"Rather Hurt Than Feel Nothing At All"

Apparently, since I am me and I am where I am at this point in my life, feeling any emotion at all is good, even if it's acute frustration because people just don't get it. And by it, I mean me.

Now, I realize that "getting me" is a fairly tall order; I'm not stupid, I know that there are very few people in the world who are even capable of a basic understanding of how my brain works. That being said, I really wish that certain people would use whatever common sense God gave them and realize that, just because I said that I'm having a bad week, does not mean I want to talk about it.

In fact, let me just put this all out here for the world to see and--hopefully--get through its thick head.

When I blog, everything I put in here is put here because I don't want to talk about it. In some cases, I don't want to talk about anything. Not me, not my problems, not your problems, not politics (okay, I never want to talk about politics), not the drama of what's-her-face and her boyfriend and the huge fight they had in the middle of the quad...

Some days, I don't want to talk. And I find that to be perfectly acceptable because I'm not bottling it up inside. I'm putting it all in my blog, where it belongs. Because I'm coping. That's the whole point of this venture, me documenting the ups and downs of my life while I try to put all the annoying jigsaw puzzle pieces back together so it actually looks like my life instead of a huge broken mess.

While I'm still fairly frustrated, I'd also like to point out one other thing: people need to realize they are not super heroes. I know that the big movie craze right now is all about ordinary people suddenly realizing they have the power to right the world's wrongs and make everything better, but let's be honest here: in reality, that doesn't happen. It sucks, but it's true. You can't help everyone. Sometimes, there isn't anything TO help. Like, oh, say ME, for instance.

My problems are just that, my problems. I'm not saying that I can't be helped, but I am saying that there are times when other people can't help. Sadly, I have two friends who have what I have deemed as "Superman-Syndrome"; if I try to tell them what's going on, they immediately start asking how they can help. And yes, I know that is incredibly nice, and I'm so lucky to have friends who want to help, but that's not the point here. The point is that you can't solve the world's problems, and you really can't solve mine. Less sadly, one of my friends has realized that she can't solve all my problems for me, at least not the big ones. So, for now, she's just trying to help me figure out how I can get some sleep.

The other one....him I kinda really want to strangle.

Well, now that I've said at least three times as much as I was planning on saying when I started, I'm gonna get to work on that sleep thing.

"For a Walking Corpse Like Me"

Lately, I've caught myself falling back into the same old place I always let myself end up when my life starts coming together; I've avoided really talking about it with anyone for the whole week. The only reason my housemate even knows is because she lives with me and it's a little hard to hide the fact that I haven't left the apartment since church on Sunday from her. Not that she's really here often enough to notice. But that's beside the point.

I stopped caring again. Not about everything, I still care about my brother and everything going on with him; I still care about my friends and the drama in their lives; I even care--probably too much--about the characters in my favorite books and shows. But I stopped caring about me. All week, I've had issues getting to sleep: I'd go to bed around 12 or 1 am, stare at the wall or the ceiling for an hour, read something on my computer for another hour, try to sleep again, and consider myself lucky if I was passed out by 4am. This meant that I probably didn't get up until 11am or later.

There were times, especially in the past 24hours, where I really wished that I could just walk outside, hit up a 99cent store, buy a bunch of crap I don't need, and tell all my friends to deal with it because I was coping. And maybe I could have. But I didn't. Instead, I sat on my couch and ignored texts from a friend of mine because I knew I'd end up telling him everything without really thinking about it. And then people would worry. And I hate when people worry about me. I don't see the point.

What I find to be the weirdest part of this whole week of self-deprecation is the lack of logical emotion I've been able to show. My friends tell me that such-and-such is happening in their lives, and I'm concerned or angry or what have you....but I'm also bored. Within minutes of the conversation starting, I'm bored with the whole thing. Yes, I'm aware that this is probably not normal.

The only other sign of basic emotion I've shown, besides near-psychotic giggling over TV show situations, has happened at night while I attempt to reach something even slightly akin to sleep. I lay in my bed, I start relaxing my body bit by bit, I picture my happy place where it's calm and pretty and peaceful and all I hear are wind chimes, I hold the stuffed cat I've had since I was born, and...I cry.

Yep, I cry. Last night I was sobbing. And you want to know why? What on this earth finally made me show some sign of real life?

That stuffed cat.

Mmhmm. I hold Kitty to my chest, just under my chin, and I try to remember the song that she used to play when I was little and I'd push the button in her paw because I was upset... But I can't remember how the song goes.

So I cried.

And I didn't tell anyone what was going on.

Because I don't know if I want them to care.

Because I don't.

"There's Gonna Be Some Ups and Downs"

If I were to be truthfully honest--which I do try to be when I blog because I don't actually expect anyone to really read this, and it's more for me than anyone else anyway--I'd have to say that some things in my life just weird me out.

For instance: happy, smiley couples weird me out. Must they be SO happy ALL the time? Do they really need to rub it in the faces of us non-coupley people? Geez...

Mainly, what it weirding me out right now, is the fact that I don't feel weirded out that I'm moderately happy. I'm not overly stressed or worried about anything, I'm not searching my room in vain for something sharp and pointy (I think the best I'd manage would be my keys), and I'm not pining after one of the multiple idiots who used me like a doormat.

Contrary to the opinion of my roommate, who I love very much but occasionally want to smack because she doesn't quite get my point no matter how many times I explain it, I'm not saying my life is perfect. Let's face it, it's not. A lot of it still sucks, and could very likely get worse in a few weeks when my family drives up here. Yeah, let's not focus on that for awhile. Or ever.

I am also not saying I'm completely content with my aspect of the world and how my days go. I'm really not. But I'm also not unhappy with it. I'm not miserable or depressed. I'm not even sitting here waiting on pins and needles for something bad to happen. The worst thing I see in my future we've already touched on enough for one post.

So, I guess you could say I am...not quite happy. Or even content, really. But living? That one is applicable.

"In the Free Fall"

Funk: a dejected mood; depression or ill humor

This past weekend, I've found myself in a huge funk. On the "funk scale", going from 1-10, I've been about an 8. I was reaching very scary levels.

After church yesterday, I went over to see a friend I've really been missing this summer, and she had a letter for me from a friend who is on a mission in Mexico for our church. I didn't pay much attention to it other than enjoying hearing from him, but later that night, while I was doing some major soul searching and attempting to figure out my life, I remembered something he wrote in the letter. He reminded me of the main rule of our friendship: Smile.

I had been asking myself, asking God, how to get myself out of the funk, how to move on with my life, and there it was. Smile.

So that's what I'm going to focus on. I' going to smile. I'm going to breathe. And I'm not going to worry so damn much.

Oh, and maybe working the swearing thing. That could become an issue later. Maybe.

"Life Isn't Made Up of All That She Used To"

I'm somewhat ambivalent about summer right now. For most people, especially those in school, summer is the great escape from the tyranny of homework and teachers. On the other hand, parents probably dislike summer because it means the kids are home all day. Usually, I would subscribe to the first way of thinking, but this summer has been different than most for me.

It has been very nearly 13 months since I decided to let my more well-known ex into my life so he could drive me crazy again, 13 months since I last saw that manipulating liar who made dashing my hopes against rocks into a game lasting close to five years. I'm not bitter, I swear. That's the honest truth of our relationship.

Back to the main point: summer. Usually, I meet all of my exes during the summer, after which we attempt to make a go of the relationship and then realize that it's not working...because I have absolutely awful taste in men, not that they really qualify to be considered men when you think about how they treat women. This summer, however, I have done absolutely nothing. Seriously, I sat at home for two months bored out of my mind--by the way, never a good thing for me because then I start pining after said "not-really-men"--and now I'm at school, still bored out of my mind because my classes fell through, watching my roommate make out with her boyfriend on our couch while alternating between feeling completely nauseous, jealous, and depressed.

The other night, I went to my roommate's room and cried on her shoulder for awhile, completely depressed about how messed up I let my life get and absolutely certain that there was no one in this world ("this world" meaning the community in which I find myself at school) who would be willing to take me and all my baggage. I screwed up royally. I'm a depressed slut with control issues which make their appearance in the form of scratches made by safety pins across my wrists and forearms, on top of my family issues, ex-boyfriend issues, and general life issues.

Coincidentally, my roommate and I also watch a good amount of TV, especially How I Met Your Mother. Now, anyone who reads this will probably think I'm certifiable due to that change in topic, but I promise, it is related. My roommie told me that the right person (yeah, she said "person" not "boy"...she's cool like that with me) wouldn't care about all my baggage. Besides, I'm a totally different person than who I was five plus years ago when I let the circumstances in my life dictate how I was going to react and live. She said she could see the changes in me in the two years she's known me, the first of which was spent with me hating her because she was with one of my exes...long story.

The next day, while she was out with her boyfriend (who is not my ex, if you were wondering), I was watching some episodes of How I Met Your Mother on the DVR and came across one called "Doppelgangers." Towards the end of the episode, Ted had this one line that just hit me like a smack across the face:

“Eventually, over time, we all become our own doppelgangers, you know? These completely different people who just happen to look like us. Five years ago Robin? That girl—she was pretty great. But doppelganger Robin? She’s amazing.”

 Yeah, I pretty much fell off the couch when I heard that. I was basically exactly what my roommate had said the night before, but in different words, and I'm fairly certain she hasn't seen that episode yet, so I was considerably stunned.

Now, I'm going to take a moment to admit to my own nerdiness by saying that, when the mood hits me and I get bored, I watch anime; some of my favorite shows may or may not include The Ouron High School Host Club and Avatar: The Last Airbender. So saying, I started watching the spin off from Avatar, The Legend of Korra.

I got through the whole season in one day.

Today.

Here's the cool part: I had another "smack across the face" moment during the last episode. Past Life Aang came back and said:

“When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change.”

 Basically, the entire universe--or at least the TV-verse--is telling me to grow up and realize that I am a different person than who I let all those guys turn me into, and I am at a point in my life where I can really start to change and get my life back on track and put myself back together.

And it feels good.

Thank you Universe! And roommate.